Unconventional
by vespertine dreams
Summary: #6-- Shawn and Patrick are back, this time going undercover at a paranormal convention in search of a killer. Slash- Patrick/Shawn. Some violence. Reviews welcome.


**Notes**- All of my Psych/Mentalist fics can be read as stand-alones but if you want the whole list so far, the reading order is-

The Fake Psychics' club

Fake Psychics Reunited

Missing

The Bet

Moving On

Unconventional

Unforgettable

______________________________________________________________________

Unconventional

Patrick Jane reached across and confiscated the pens that were currently being used to beat out a rhythm against the edge of the desk.

"Hey!"

Shawn leaned over and snatched them back, sticking his tongue out at Patrick as he did so. Yes, it was childish but so what?

"Spencer, will you please concentrate," Agent Lisbon told him, trying not to let her smile show. "This is important."

Three weeks ago, since he spent most of his time here with Patrick anyway and knew more about the CBI cases than he was supposed to, Lisbon had agreed to let Shawn help out. He'd done it with the Santa Barbara PD, helping out on a semi-official basis, and Lisbon had agreed to the same terms here. He had a suspicion that the Santa Barbara PD had agreed to let him go a bit too quickly; if he hadn't been so excited about working with Patrick, he might have been offended.

That was the other great thing about being here. He and Patrick had been together for nearly eight months now and he couldn't be happier. What had started as a bit of fun had grown into something so much more.

Now, the CBI had a case that required his services.

"I'm listening, honest," he insisted, still tapping away on the desk. "I just have to go to this convention and, well, do what I do."

Lisbon sighed. "This isn't a game; this person has murdered two psychics, both of them working the conventions' circuit. I really don't want you to be number three."

Shawn glanced around at the equally worried looks on the other agents' faces and put the pens down.

"OK, _now_ I'm listening."

Satisfied, Lisbon began to run through his assignment. He was to go undercover at the next paranormal convention, taking the place of the psychic who was supposed to be there. The man had been removed by CBI in order to free up a place for Shawn. Originally they had been planning to send Patrick but then someone at the convention had heard that he now worked with the police and had asked him to come in as a guest speaker. Now, all eyes would be on him meaning that he couldn't do much investigating.

Shawn, however, could get by unrecognised and also pass himself off as a genuine psychic. Not that anyone but Patrick knew he wasn't psychic but Lisbon had still insisted that he practice his routine. After all, he may have helped the police with investigations but he'd never actually done public readings. Her idea was that he do a psychic reading on each of them in order to perfect it.

"I've seen people do this before," he told her. "I'll be fine."

"Prove it," Patrick said. "Come on, you can do me first."

Shawn looked up and grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. At the sniggers and snorts of laughter from Agents Rigsby and Cho, Patrick's cheeks pinked.

"I know you knew what I meant," Patrick sighed. "Get your mind out of the gutter and behave yourself."

"Spoilsport."

Two hours later, Lisbon was satisfied that Shawn wouldn't be caught out at the convention, and finally let him stop. It had been fun, he thought. He'd learned some interesting things -whether shared willingly or not- about his new co-workers. Such as not to mention the unspoken love between Grace Van Pelt and Wayne Rigsby. It wasn't exactly a secret, since everyone knew, but the two of them seemed to like pretending that it _was_ still a secret. It was a shame, really, since they'd be cute together. Apparently, relationships between colleagues were frowned upon although Shawn had already decided that he didn't like that rule and so he chose to ignore it. If he was being really awkward, he could always point out that, when Lisbon had hired him, she already knew he was living with Patrick and so she'd technically OK'd the fact that they were together.

"Are you sure you really want to go through with this?" Patrick asked as they walked to the car. "You don't have to."

Shawn laughed softly. "Aww, you're worried about me. That's so sweet."

"Of course I'm worried."

"Well you don't have to be," Shawn assured him. "I can take care of myself and, if for any reason I can't, I'll have a whole CBI team ready and waiting for my signal, right?"

Patrick nodded, knowing that Shawn could look after himself, but that didn't mean he had to like it when his boyfriend put himself in danger. He couldn't really argue that point, though, seeing as he did the same job and put himself in the line of fire more than Shawn did.

"Come on, let's go home," Shawn said, giving him a hug and a quick kiss before running to the car. "I'm driving."

It was only then that Patrick paused and checked his jacket for his keys. They weren't there. He smiled and shook his head, knowing that Shawn had picked his pocket; the hug had been a diversion. He really should never have taught him that trick.

"What can I offer to make you hand over those keys?" he asked when he reached the car. "Anything at all."

Shawn cocked his head to one side, considering it, a little smile on his face. "Anything?"

Patrick nodded, not above a little bribery if it meant escaping Shawn's haphazard and, quite frankly, terrifying driving on the way home. When he saw the speed at which the other man agreed to said bribery he began to wonder if he hadn't just been played, the keys being purposefully held to ransom for a specific reason.

"How about…" Shawn leaned in close to whisper in Patrick's ear and he knew he'd been correct.

"Deal."

Shawn handed over the keys and jumped out of the driver's seat, pressing Patrick back against the car door for a heated kiss before bouncing around to the passenger side. Patrick laughed and got in, setting off home. One thing about Shawn was it was never boring. If someone had told him months back that he and Shawn would be a couple, he'd have told them they were crazy. Shawn was almost his complete opposite- a slightly dishevelled, hyper-active, pretend psychic whose attention span was that of a five-year-old. Patrick wore suits- something he suspected Shawn didn't even own -and he had a couch at the CBI offices where he slept in between cases. Since Shawn had come into his life he didn't do that any more; Shawn couldn't sit still for more than a minute at a time and therefore neither could Patrick. Shawn didn't let him. It was exhausting keeping up with him, but it was usually fun trying.

The short drive back to the house took them twice as long as it should, as Shawn had insisted that they stop for Chinese food on the way. He pretended that it was a treat but Patrick knew better; it was Shawn's turn to cook and he hated doing it. Then again, he'd done the same thing himself on more than one occasion so he couldn't really object. And, even better, there were no dishes to clean afterwards, a fact that Shawn took full advantage of. He moved the cartons and then returned to Patrick, slipping his arms around the other man's waist and leaning in for a kiss.

"Now, I seem to remember that you promised I could do whatever I wanted to you," he said, reaching up to slide Patrick's jacket off his shoulders and drape it over the back of the chair. "Well I want to play."

His fingers began on the buttons of Patrick's waistcoat and shirt, carefully removing each item and leaving them with the jacket.

"You do realise that we're in the kitchen and the blinds are open, don't you?"

Shawn nodded, his eyes sparkling. "Yep."

Patrick glanced to the window; no one could see in, not really. Well not unless old Mrs Brannon next door happened to be in her garden, but then her sight wasn't too good anyway. He hoped. He found himself caring less and less about the possibility of being seen as Shawn tossed his belt aside and those deft fingers slipped inside his trousers.

Oh, who cared- people shouldn't be looking in his windows in the first place, was his last thought as Shawn moved him against the kitchen counter.

--------

At eight o'clock the next morning, the convention hall was almost empty. Not open to the public yet, the only people here were the organisers and the various other people who were setting up their booths.

"This is kinda fun," Shawn said. Since his attraction didn't require much setting up, he was wandering about with Van Pelt. Patrick had been called away by the man who had asked him to come and speak, and so it was just the two of them. Lisbon had insisted that he have someone with him, just in case, and apparently Grace looked the least like a cop of all of them.

"Tell me," he asked. "Do you actually believe in all of this stuff?"

Grace frowned. "How can you ask that, given what you do?"

"Everyone's got a right to their opinion. I'm just curious."

She nodded. "Yes, I do. I mean, I know that there are con artists out there but I believe that every so often, there is someone with a genuine gift, like you."

Shawn didn't have the heart to burst her bubble and tell her that her so-called psychics and fortune tellers were likely just like him, skilled in observation but not possessing one ounce of paranormal ability.

"So, are you going to get your fortune read?"

She shook her head. "I'm working."

"So? It'll take no time at all," he said. "You're always so serious; you should live a little. Have some fun once in a while."

"I have fun," she protested.

He sighed. "So when are you going to ask Rigsby out? Oh, come on; the others may just pretend they don't know but it's clear to just about everyone that you dig the guy. And we've all seen the way he looks at you."

"I-"

"Before you say anything about rules, the way I see it is that if no one _sees_ anything going on, then they can't say it's against the rules, right?" Shawn gave her hand a squeeze. "Just think about it, OK?"

By the time he'd done the first couple of readings, Shawn was feeling confident enough to actually begin to enjoy himself. This was great; there was no wonder Patrick had made the big bucks doing it. All these people wanted was their own thoughts and ideas to be confirmed, to have someone else tell them that they were right and to go ahead with whatever they wanted to do.

Shawn smiled at the woman across the table from him, holding her hand lightly in his. As he moved his fingers, he could feel the calluses from repeatedly holding onto something. There was a tiny horse logo on her shirt, and on a keychain on the bag she'd put down beside the table.

"I can see that you love riding, and that you train hard."

The woman nodded emphatically, looking surprised. "I always wanted to ride dressage but my husband always told me that it was a waste of time."

"But you kept training, and you kept dreaming, didn't you?"

Again she nodded, shifting in her seat. As she moved, he caught a glimpse of her hand. Hmm, no ring, but there was a faint tan-line. He smiled.

"You should follow your dream," Shawn told her. "Now that your husband is no longer there to tell you what to do, you should begin to live for yourself. Do what you love to do."

She went away smiling and promising to do just that. Shawn had no idea of she would actually get anywhere with it, but at least she would be happy whilst she was trying.

It was almost noon by the time Patrick caught up with him, although it was only a passing visit. They had scheduled Patrick to go on straight after lunch for a question-and-answer session and he had at least one convention assistant pursuing him at the very moment to get him ready.

"These people would make damn good bloodhounds," he grumbled to Shawn, glancing back over his shoulder.

Shawn stepped back into an alcove and pulled Patrick in with him. It should give them a couple of minutes to talk if no longer.

"So, anyone suspicious yet?"

Shawn nodded. "One or two that got my spider-sense tingling. I've got Van Pelt checking them out as we speak."

"Isn't she supposed to be sticking close to you, not doing background checks?"

"Patrick, relax. She's just over there on her phone," Shawn assured him. "Besides, didn't think she'd want to watch."

Patrick smiled knowingly and leaned in for a kiss…

…At the exact same time that a green-t-shirted young man cleared his throat.

"Mr Jane, I'm supposed to take you to the lecture hall."

Patrick ignored him, taking his time in kissing Shawn goodbye before finally following green-shirt with a pissed-off look on his face. The young man was watching him with an amused look on his face, occasionally glancing back at Shawn, as they walked away.

"What's got Jane looking so annoyed?"

Shawn turned to see Van Pelt standing nearby, frowning. "More like 'who'," he informed her. "Let's just say that I don't think he'll be joining the convention and lecture circuit any time soon. So, anything?"

She shook her head. "No, of the three guys you pinpointed, two were clean, no rap sheet at all, and the third has only a DUI. Nothing indicating that they're the one we're after."

"Well, we've still got another few hours so, back to the booth." He indicated for her to take the lead with a small bowing gesture. "After you, m'lady."

For the rest of the afternoon, Shawn did readings and kept a close eye on the crowd. Unfortunately, no one person jumped out at him and as much as he had enjoyed most of today, he was damn glad when it came time for the other guests to leave. Patrick had got caught up with two women who were asking him questions, waving to them that he would catch up. Shawn decided to give him five minutes and then he'd stage a rescue, by way of an important phone call, before heading out to the car with Van Pelt.

"I can't believe we didn't find anything," Shawn complained. Then he brightened. "Oh well, there's always tomorrow. I actually had fun today- I should start doing this for real. I mean, I could do readings for people, you know, like Patrick used to..."

Van Pelt put an arm out to stop him, her posture suddenly tensing as she seemed to switch back into police mode. It was a barely noticeable shift that anyone else probably wouldn't have caught on to, but this was what Shawn did. He noticed things.

Keeping a pleasant smile on her face, she continued walking towards the car, and once they moved another few steps, Shawn could see what she had been watching. There was a man standing near to their car, leaned against the wall, wearing black jeans and a dark baseball jacket. When he saw them, he stood up straighter and began to walk their way.

Shawn hadn't really thought beyond trying to spot the killer at the convention before this. He had assumed that the CBI would come running to the rescue and that would be that. Now that they were alone in a quiet parking lot with this guy, and the team were nowhere in sight, he found himself wanting to turn around and leave. Quickly.

The man's pace speeded up to catch them before they reached the car. Just as he thought that Van Pelt was about to pull her gun on him, the man spoke.

"Mr Spencer? I wanted to meet you but they said that you'd gone for the night," he began. "My wife came to see you earlier today and she's been really down lately but after she saw you she was different. I can't thank you enough; she was happy, positive."

Shawn relaxed a little and gave the man a warm smile. "Well thank you. But you know, you could have just come to see me tomorrow instead of waiting in the parking lot."

The man looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. I realise how this must have looked; I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to say thank you."

Patrick came hurrying across the parking lot just as the man was leaving, and he cast a curious look after him.

"Spencer got his first fan," Van Pelt explained as they got into the car. Letting Patrick drive, she climbed into the back seat and took out a mobile phone to call in to Lisbon. At this point, she couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or not that they hadn't found the killer. After all, no killer meant that Shawn hadn't been in danger but, then again, it meant that he was still on the loose and she had to call in with nothing to report.

"So, how did question time go?"

Patrick sighed. "I am never doing this again," he said. "Tomorrow, I'm calling in sick. The endless stupid questions I could deal with but some of these people just don't know when to let a subject alone."

"Digging up the past?" Shawn asked, guessing what they had been asking him. A lot of years had passed since Red John had tormented him by murdering his family, then taunting that he should have known it was coming 'if he was a real psychic'.

"Something like that," Patrick agreed, meaning yes. That was another thing that Shawn had got used to- Patrick not talking about the past. If he did, it was just tiny scraps of information, and he couldn't be pushed for more.

"You OK?"

Patrick smiled at him. "Yeah. But I'm still not coming back tomorrow."

"But you promised you'd do both days," Shawn argued. "If I have to, then so do you."

"But you're enjoying yourself!"

They dropped Van Pelt off at her place and headed home, still arguing about it. Which was why neither of them saw the SUV coming up alongside them until it hit their car.

"What the hell?"

The SUV veered away and then seconds later it hit them again, this time with enough force that Patrick had trouble keeping the car on the road.

"Phone it in!"

Shawn braced his feet against the dashboard and quickly scrolled through the numbers on his phone.

"Hey, Grace, I think we just found your missing psychopath," he said. "Where is he? Well, he is, at this present moment, trying to run us off the road."

After telling them where they were, he cut the call off, looking in the mirror for the SUV again. Oh, this wasn't good.

"Patrick, can this damn car go any faster?"

It didn't matter anyway as the SUV hit them again, this time making their car fishtail and then they were over the banking at the side of the road. At the speed they were travelling, there was no chance of missing the wall that loomed up in front of them.

Shawn opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. His head felt like he had a hangover, only he hadn't had the fun time and the booze first. He blinked as something ran into his eye and he wiped at it, wincing as his fingers touched a cut on his forehead. His fingers came away red with blood.

"Patrick?"

A low groan from the driver's seat let him know that, although he might be hurt, Patrick was at least conscious. He looked across and saw that Patrick was trapped between the seat and the steering column but other than that he looked uninjured.

"Shawn, look out," Patrick said as the window beside Shawn shattered inwards.

He ducked as a crowbar swung at his head, showering him with pieces of glass. Risking a glance outside, Shawn saw a blonde haired woman holding onto the crowbar, getting ready for another swing.

"OK, so the psychopath is actually a woman," he murmured to himself, slightly surprised.

She tried to wrench the door open, to get to him, but it had jammed shut in the crash. For that, Shawn was glad. He managed to get to the seatbelt release and hauled himself into the back seat. Whilst she was still trying to open the door, he climbed out of the back door on the opposite side. It hadn't taken as much damage as the front of the car or the passenger side where psycho-woman had repeatedly smashed her car into it. Seeing that she had managed to get inside, and that Patrick was still trapped and unable to get away from her, he did something stupid.

"Hey!" Between the rock hitting her and the yell, it got her attention and she turned on him, rushing him with the crowbar. _Good move, Spencer_, he mentally scolded himself.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled at her, keeping his distance. His vision blurred a little from the knock on the head he'd taken but he blinked the world back into focus. "What have I ever done to you?"

The woman sneered at him, still advancing. "It's your fault, you know. You people. You told her to do it; you killed her."

As Shawn stumbled and landed hard on the ground, she launched herself at him. He managed to roll just in time, the crowbar impacting in the grass mere inches from his left ear.

"FREEZE!"

The woman spun around and started forward. A single shot rang out and then she was falling, landing next to him, her eyes open and a dark red stain appearing on the front of her blouse. Shawn sat up but his head started pounding once again and he lay back down.

"Grace, I have never been so glad to see you in my whole life."

--------

Twelve hours later, Patrick sat on his couch in the CBI office, his right foot, now in a white cast, propped up on the low table in front of him. Next to him, Shawn sprawled comfortably, eating a chocolate bar. He had escaped the whole incident with minor cuts and bruises, although the gash on his head had needed a couple of stitches.

"So it turns out that our killer had a sister," Lisbon was telling them. "Three months ago, she killed herself after losing her job and her home. According to her ex-husband, she was obsessed with visiting psychics and consulting fortune tellers, it was what made him leave her in the end."

Shawn nodded. "Crazy-chick did say something about 'you people told her to do it'. Do what, exactly?"

"She used every bit of money she had to keep visiting these people, believing everything they told her. He said that she was easily led by others and they took advantage of it. She wasn't exactly stable in the first place," Lisbon said.

She glared at Rigsby as he muttered, "Must run in the family."

"Anyway, she lost everything and ended up having a nervous breakdown," Lisbon continued. "Her sister found her hanged three months ago."

As sorry as he felt for the woman who had attacked him, Shawn just couldn't feel bad that she was dead. If she'd had her way, he would be lying bleeding in the grass.

He turned to Patrick. "Is it always this much fun to work here?"

"Thankfully, no," Patrick told him. "I could really do without another day like that for a while."

"Well you won't have to worry about that because you're not going near a case until that cast comes off," Lisbon said. She frowned. "Speaking of which, I thought the doctor told you to stay at home? You too, Shawn."

Shawn pointed at Patrick. "He made me drive him here."

"Fine," Lisbon said, rolling her eyes. She knew she stood no chance of making either of them leave if they didn't want to. "You stay on that couch, OK? The rest of you, if I find out that anyone has given them even one single page of a case file…"

The other agents scattered, leaving Shawn and Patrick on the couch. The next time Lisbon looked, about an hour later, Shawn was asleep, his head resting against Patrick's shoulder. Patrick had one of Shawn's X-Men comics in his lap, open at the page he had been reading, his head leaned back against the couch, eyes closed.

She turned to see Van Pelt also watching them.

"Kinda cute, isn't it?"

Lisbon had to agree and although she knew that she should send them home, she didn't have the heart to wake them.

End.


End file.
